IJMC - The Art of Cat-Bath-Fu

I'll simply say I'm a dog person. Here Lady Rufus, here girl, good dog! -dave





CAT BATHING AS A MARTIAL ART

Some people say cats never have to be bathed. They say cats lick
themselves clean.  They say cats have a special enzyme of some sort in
their saliva that works like new, improved Wisk, dislodging the dirt where
it hides and whisking it away.  I've spent most of my life believing this
folklore. Like most blind believers, I've been able to discount all the
facts to the contrary, the kitty odors that lurk in the corners of the
garage, and dirt smudges that cling to the throw rug by the fireplace. 
The time comes, however, when a man must face reality; when he must look
squarely in the face of massive public sentiment to the contrary and
announce: "This cat smells like a port-a-potty on a hot day in Juarez." 

When that day arrives at your house, as it has in mine, I have some advice
you might consider as you place your feline friend under your arm and head
for the bathtub. 

-- Know that although the cat has the advantage of quickness and lack of
concern for human life, you have the advantage of strength.  Capitalize on
that advantage by selecting the battlefield.  Don't try to bathe him in an
open area where he can force you to chase him.  Pick a very small
bathroom. If your bathroom is more than four feet square, I recommend that
you get in the tub with the cat and close the sliding-glass doors as if
you were about to take a shower.  (A simple shower curtain will not do.  A
berserk cat can shred a three-ply rubber shower curtain quicker than a
politician can shift positions.)

-- Know that a cat has claws and will not hesitate to remove all the skin
from your body.  Your advantage here is that you are smart and know how to
dress to protect yourself.  I recommend canvas overalls tucked into
high-top construction boots, a pair of steel-mesh gloves, an army helmet,
a hockey face mask, and a long-sleeved flak jacket. 

-- Prepare everything in advance.  There is no time to go out for a towel
when you have a cat digging a hole in your flak jacket.  Draw the water. 
Make sure the bottle of kitty shampoo is inside the glass enclosure.  Make
sure the towel can be reached, even if you are lying on your back in the
water. 

-- Use the element of surprise.  Pick up your cat nonchalantly, as if to
simply carry him to his supper dish.  (Cats will not usually notice your
strange attire.  They have little or no interest in fashion as a rule.  If he
does notice your garb, calmly explain that you are taking part in a product
testing experiment for J.C. Penney.)

-- Once you are inside the bathroom, speed is essential to survival.  In a
single liquid motion, shut the bathroom door, step into the tub enclosure,
slide the glass door shut, dip the cat in the water, and squirt him with
shampoo.  You have begun one of the wildest 45 seconds of your life.

-- Cats have no handles.  Add the fact that he now has soapy fur, and the
problem is radically compounded.  Do not expect to hold on to him for more
than two or three seconds at a time.  When you have him, however, you must
remember to give him another squirt of shampoo and rub like crazy.  He'll
then spring free and fall back into the water, thereby rinsing himself
off.  (The national record for cats is three latherings, so don't expect
too much.)

-- Next, the cat must be dried.  Novice cat bathers always assume this
part will be the most difficult, for humans generally are worn out at this
point, and the cat is just getting really determined.  In fact, the drying
is simple compared to what you have just been through.  That's because by
now the cat is semi-permanently affixed to your right leg.  You simply pop
the drain plug with you foot, reach for your towel, and wait. 
(Occasionally, however, the cat will end up clinging to the top of your
army helmet.  If this happens, the best thing you can do is to shake him
loose and to encourage him toward your leg.) After all the water is
drained from the tub, it is a simple matter to just reach down and dry the
cat. 

In a few days, the cat will relax enough to be removed from your leg. He will
usually have nothing to say for about three weeks, and will spend a lot of
time sitting with his back to you.  He might even become psychoceramic and
develop the fixed stare of a plaster figurine.  You will be tempted to assume
he is angry.  This isn't usually the case.  As a rule, he is simply plotting
ways to get through your defenses and injure you for life the next time you
decide to give him a bath.

But at least now he smells a lot better.